Bounds
by Idlesana
Summary: From one to ten and how they came to be, behind closed doors, where the world could not see.


Disclaimer: The characters used in this fanfic are in no way my creation or owned by me.

A short, weird, weird one-shot with Spain and Russia. xD I wanted to write something with the two of them and didn't have any ideas so that might explain the weirdness? Whatever. I just want to spread the joy of Spain/Russia, yay~

* * *

_First_, there's that smile, a constant quirk of the lips that never goes away. They would have never thought it was the same, not with Spain's being all about sunshine while Russia's froze you to place like liquid nitrogen. But it is, when nurtured right and given the correct ingredients, exactly the same.

_Second_, a reminder that they are not humans. Nations, yes. Animals... _oh god_. The first time Spain pushes Russia against whatever and does everything to him, Russia can only moan. There's too many things Russia wishes he had no control over and too many things Spain wishes he could control, and their bodies jerk and thrust in an unsightly way that is in no way in cadence with anything this world has to offer.

The kisses, though. Dear god, does Russia yield to the kisses. They are nothing like the frostbites Winter has left all over his body. Spain burns him with teeth and tongue, with words that make no sense to him. It leaves him thinking he has a lot to be grateful for.

The strength, Spain groans. Sometimes he feels like he could explode when the world frowns on his desires to smash someone's head in. He can adjust with the times, but there will always be that something inside him that adores all that is red. He's snapped once, twice, he can't count when it feels so good, and Russia gets his thank yous every time he shudders in delight.

_Third_, the world does not see. They can have the entire planet sit at one huge table with them, and not one pair of questioning eyes will wander their way. Not even if Russia can still feel Spain inside him and Spain can taste Russia on his tongue. Neither are masters of disguise, but being separated by tables and stools and countries with screaming cultures, there's really no need to put effort in anything. They will never know how they scream.

_Fourth_, there's confusion. They don't really talk about what they do. It's just something their bodies take control over, shutting down the mind to simple things out. Still, for the life of him, Russia can't explain the urge to tie Spain down and mark him with his iron pipe when he sees the man touch an Italian more than a friend would find comfortable. And Spain, for the life of him, does not understand why France's hands on his body become hesitant when there's a twist on his smile at the proposing words that Belarus is once again harassing Russia with.

_Fifth_, there is a calm before the storm. It's when things stop being new and fascinating. It's when the pain dulls down and they find themselves staring at the exhausted other. It's when Spain asks Russia "What the hell are we doing?" and Russia has no answer.

_Sixth_, they don't know how to pretend. Things have happened. It's not in either of their cultures to leave things without a talk, and yet, they don't know how to approach the subject they haven't talked about to begin with. It gnaws on their minds, when they sit in the same room with many of their kind, talking, discussing like life is as it always has been. Pretending it never happened.

_Seventh_, Spain apologizes. The words come out quiet but their wish to live longer is granted by the walls of the empty room. The only thing it does is leave Russia's mouth thirsty for blood. "No you're not," he says and finds it insulting that Spain would take him for a fool. "Not yet," and the spark that is lighted in Spain's green eyes does not go unnoticed by Russia.

_Eighth_, the skies spit down water and electricity. Russia's head feels heavy. He thinks he's in control, but he can't really tell. He's familiar with forcing, violence and ignoring the pleas to do anything but that. Now, the world moves slowly and he can't hear a thing aside from the bounding of his heart. And if someone is knocking on the door, it goes unnoticed by the both of them.

_Ninth_, the bed is not wide at all. Come morning, there's no telling where Spain ends and Russia begins. They are a mess of skin and sweat, sleepy grunts and silly smiles. Spain's voice is hoarse from screaming as he wishes Russia good morning, and Russia can barely respond with his bitten tongue. The room is a mess, their bodies ache and there might be another knock on the door, but this all is ignored for the sake of laughter.

_Tenth_, it's the sun that makes Southerners boil, Northerners think in their darkened lands. Russia feels like he has lived through war with Spain as he tries to collect himself for another meeting. He tries to remember the conclusion of the night, but all that comes to his mind is the quickened beat of his heart.

Spain though, stops him in front of the world and gives no mind to anything, when he gifts Russia with huge, yellow flowers. The world may gasp, but all Russia can hear is himself thinking '_Oh yeah..._' as he stares at Spain's smile and accepts the flowers.

'_We fell in love._'

* * *

**-END-**

Yes, I made them a bit violent and loony. That's the way I like them, okay? :I

If you were confused about some parts and wonder if there's some deep, poetic meaning to the words, please don't ask me, for I have no clue. Or, well, you can ask me and I'll come up with an explanation that I thought of only after rereading it.

Comment and Criticize~?


End file.
